“It is turning to fog,” said Janet, trying to keep to what was commonplace. “It was better that we did not go out.”
“Oh, was I thinking of the fog?” said Julia. “I would rather see a dozen fogs than Gussy shut up like that, pursing up her lips as if she were afraid something would drop out when she spoke. And poor Dolff, so dismal, not knowing what to do with himself. Janet, do you think there could be any truth in all that story about Dolff?”
“My dear,” said Janet, “how should I have any opinion? I cannot be supposed to know about your brother, what he is likely to do.”
“Oh,” said Julia, “I did not ask you what you know, but what you think; everybody must have an opinion. Besides, after all, it is not so very little that you know about Dolff. He has been at home for six weeks, and you have always seen a great deal of him; at least I am sure he has always tried to see as much as he could of you.”
“I think,” said Janet, “that it is very bad taste for us to discuss people, especially for you to talk with me about your own family. You forget that I am the governess, Julia.”
“I think you are very nasty, and not nice at all. Whoever thinks of you as the governess! I wonder what you mean, saying such unkind things.”
“They are not unkind, they are true. Your mother and Gussy have been very good to me, but——”
“Oh, Janet, when you know we were very fond of you, and we thought you were fond of us!”
Here Janet was suddenly visited by a great compunction which changed at once her countenance and her feelings.
“Julia,” she said, “don’t speak to me. I feel so horrible sometimes, I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t think I am nice or good at all. Perhaps,” she added with a faint revulsion of self-defence after this impulsive confession, “it is not quite my fault.”